Shooting Stars
by SeaWolf7
Summary: After a strange mishap of an unknown force, Cas is found in an old church unconscious, amnesiac, and... six? AU Post-S5 Destiel Sabriel Crobby
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Here I am, starting yet another story... I owe chapters, I know, I know... -cough- To those who read Puppy Love, I'll explain that whole shebang when I have the next chapter to present, promise!

Any who! New story!

I'm in love with this story! I honestly am, ha ha. Wings, bb!Cas.. Oh, this'll be so much fun. :3

This was a request by **ravenanalia**, and I really hope I live up to your expectations!

Chapters will be longer than what I'm usually used to posting, mainly because I'm trying to flex my muscles more. And I have too much fun being descriptive, as you'll notice. I played quite a bit with imagery, eh-heh...

And, before anyone freaks out, _Cas __**did not**__ fall_.

I'll explain that in a chapter or two, promise, but please keep that in mind while reading.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Supernatural, blah blah blah, titles to Kripke, blah blah, just enjoying the sandbox, blah, all nerdy references made intentionally or otherwise aren't mine either, blah blah blah blah... We should know this by now...

* * *

**Name:** Shooting Stars

**Author:** SeaWolf7

**Genre(s):** Romance, Family

**Pairing(s):** Dean/Castiel, Sam/Gabriel, Bobby/Crowley

**Summary:** After a strange mishap of an unknown force, Cas is found in an old church unconscious, amnesiac, and... six? AU Post-S5 Destiel Sabriel Crobby

**Song Rec**

'_Paradise_' - Coldplay

'_Sweeter_' - Gavin Degraw

_'Hold Up A Light_' - Take That

_'Safe and Sound'_ - Taylor Swift ft. The Civil Wars

'_Kids_' - MGMT

* * *

"I hate to say it, Sammy, but I could get used to this." Dean murmured around the lip of his bottle, relaxing back against the windshield of the Impala. Since he'd gotten his ass beat by the devil, watch Sam throw himself (and Lucifer, and Michael, and Adam) into the pit, watched as Cas healed his broken, dying body and resurrected Bobby, Dean couldn't dig himself out of the mental pit he'd dug into. Watching Sammy—his baby brother—sacrifice himself for the sake of everything left Dean numb and listless. Sam had wanted him to go live the Apple Pie Life with Lisa and Ben, the life he apparently had deserved. But he couldn't, wouldn't subject Lisa to his life. There were still monsters to hunt, demons to gank. The name Dean Winchester and the term normal life were not, nor would ever become synonymous.

So he had stayed with Bobby for a while, nursing mental and psychological wounds that couldn't be healed by the touch of an angel. An angel he still had yet to see since he'd flown off from the passenger seat of the Impala. Dean spent a good deal of time kicking himself over that one, not asking Cas to stay. Or at least, tell him he was welcomed to come around if for no other reason than to hang out, check in. Anything. A part of him hated him—or, rather, what Castiel was then the angel himself. Angels had gotten them in this predicament in the first place. And all he had gotten in the end? His brother in a hole. But even that didn't last too long. The elder Winchester let his eyes roam to the taller man lying next to him on the roof of his beloved car.

Sam lay next to him, completely intact and sipping his own beer.

It had been a complete mystery how his baby brother had been popped from the box. He'd been talking with Bobby about his deal with Crowley when a knock at the door had turned out to be the younger Winchester in the flesh (even if he had to stop Bobby from stabbing Sam with a silver knife. He was all too eager to subject Sam to the customary hello—slice with silver, salt, holy water. The regular Winchester greeting.) But after proving that he was himself; that he was his actual brother he'd thought was dead, gone... He'd hugged Sam tight, and hadn't let go for several minutes.

To the sake of his man-pride, neither had Sam so it was a two-way street.

However, that still posed the question: who raised Sam from the pit? As far as anyone (Read: himself, Sam, Bobby) knew, only an angel had the sort of mojo to pull off a stunt of that caliber. But they were fresh out of ideas on who would do it. There was Cas, but he wasn't answering to prayers or calls. No other angel liked them enough to put themselves through that sort of ordeal for the boys who stopped the Apocalypse. Eventually, they put the matter into the backs of their minds, willing it away for the moment.

Sam hadn't been happy to find out Dean hadn't gone to Lisa, hadn't gotten his chance at the Apple Pie Life he 'so deserved'. But the arguments never lasted long. Just a few heated words between them before it would drop. They wouldn't talk for several hours after that, but at least they weren't talking about them. Dean didn't want to think about Lisa, about Ben and at every opportunity he took made sure he didn't.

A few weeks after Sam had shown up on Bobby's door step with not a clue on the how or why, they finally had their first hunt together as a dynamic duo. It was a small thing, a vampire being a nuisance in Idaho, but it helped the brothers gain a sense of their lives once again; a bittersweet reminder of what they were glad and regretful of having back in their lives. It brought a sense of normalcy and condemnation—a lifestyle they would surely never escape.

But helping people, saving lives was the family business, and was what they knew best.

This latest hunt left them on the cusp of Missouri, near Arkansas. A long hunt on the tail of a wendigo finally paid off with little happenstances; and while they were eager to get back to Bobby's, back home, there was a rumor floating around town that there would be a meteor shower that night.

With a bit of an argument between them (_'Seriously? Camping out to watch a meteor shower?_' _'When are we going to have this chance again, Sam?_') they found an empty stretch of road away from any light poisoning, stretched out on the hood of the vintage car with a few bottles and watched the light show. But it didn't exactly help that the streaks of light only served as a painful reminder of the angels, of Castiel. What had happened to his angel? Why wasn't he answering? Was he okay?

A foot kicked his ankle lightly, gaining his attention. "You're thinking of Cas." It wasn't a question, a gentle statement as if those few words would shatter Dean, or set off the time bomb that his brother had become. Castiel was always a tricky subject with Dean; he had no way to gauge his reaction when bringing up the angel.

"Am not." Dean groused to himself. "The dick spread his wings and flew away once the freaking apocalypse was stopped—just like he said he would. Why would I care if he didn't want to come back?" His tone sounded bitter, even to his own ears.

Sam held up a hand in surrender. "He's your best friend, Dean. You're _allowed_ to be worried."

"Oh, shut up and drink."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

They lapsed into a semi-comfortable silence once more, watching the flares of light streak across a wide expanse of starry sky. They left small trails before fading out just as quickly like fireflies flickering in the dark of humid summer nights, silently reminding the boys of happier, more innocent times. Of two smaller boys chasing the glowing bugs with mason jars and punctured lids in a salvage yard with a weathered old man keeping watch from the porch. Dean always caught more than Sam, but in the end they usually combined both jars to keep as a night light of sorts by their beds for the night, both children straining themselves to stay awake to watch the bugs flicker and light. By morning, they were always gone.

One meteor caught Dean's attention, green eyes glued to it as it streaked but never faded. His shoulder prickled numbly, not quite garnering his attention like the ever approaching ball of light. It hurdled down closer to earth, gaining increasing momentum and brightness. Dean sat up, as did Sam, and the scar started to burn as the meteor tumbled closer, and closer...

"Shit, Sam, close your eyes!"

They'd barely had time to shield themselves as the inferno raced overhead, roaring loudly in an unnatural screech that had them both crying out and covering their ears at the sound as it careened by. At the apex of its track, directly overhead of the Winchesters, Dean's scar burned at such intensity that he had to clamp his hands tighter to keep from grasping at his shoulder. It stole his breath for a moment, shakily drawing it back in as the meteor passed overhead. Slowly they opened their eyes, hesitantly uncovered their ears as the ball of light smashed into the front glass of a dark building they passed a mile back.

Sharing a look, they stood a moment before scrambling to get in the car and drive after it.

.:|:..:|:..:|:..:|:..:|:.

Pulling the Impala into the gravel parking lot of the building not even a mile down the road, Dean and Sam slid out of the vintage car to inspect the building with careful scrutiny while sliding around to the trunk to stock up on weapons.

The building, turns out, to be an old church. A decently-sized gravel driveway out front framed by ancient dogwood trees and smaller shrubbery. The stained glass mosaic over the main doors is smashed in, leaving jagged shrapnel of varying colors clinging to the edges of what the image used to be. The impact seemed to have blown out the mosaic windows on the lower floor closer to the ground, littering the grass in colored shards. The pair cautiously step up to the doors, nudging them open with the barrel of a shotgun. Shards of varying shades of glass scattered all around the flat red velvet carpeting inside the white stone building, crunching beneath bootfalls despite their best attempts to keep from stepping on the glass. The meteor shower continued on while they investigated, the streaking lights caught the gleaming jagged edges of broken stained glass. The lights danced all around them in flashes of color now, streaks of rainbows lighting up the church in a way that illuminated the otherwise dark room brilliantly.

Weapons raised and ready, they silently crept into the old church for whatever made such a mess. The pews were scattered and pushed around, the damage they took was ranged from some nicked corners to split and splintered mess. The shape they were moved was strange, however. The ones closest to the door were shifted the most, funneling in the closer they got to the pulpit. The thin red carpet was ripped at the sight of impact, torn and burned in a trail to the base of the pulpit.

The closer they crept to the polished wood, the more Dean's handprint scar burned and seared, as if pulling him closer and trying to warn him away. It filled him with an immediate sense of dread, especially once the streaks of light caught the crumpled heap of fabric at the base of the center podium. He didn't need the scar leading him, or even the streaks of color tainting the color of the material to recognize that tan trench coat.

"Cas," The word was said on a breath, a prayer of his name as the muzzle of the shotgun lowered and he was running to his side, dropping to his knees as the gun slipped from his fingers. But dread continued climbing up his spine. There wasn't enough mass to account for the entirety of Jimmy Novak's body, he could see that much.

A vague memory flashes by, of arriving at Chuck's after Lucifer had risen to find Cas... _everywhere_.

He couldn't smell blood (in fact, all he could smell was ozone before a lightning strike and the scent of a natural spring in deep woods, Cas' natural scent mixed with what might have been potpourri), but he still dreaded what he might find. Maybe this had been why Cas wouldn't answer him, couldn't –

The trench coat moved, if but a fraction.

"Dean—" Sam was suddenly at his side, a hand on his shoulder.

It shifted again just as Dean shrugged his hand off, leaning over the dirty tan coat mound. He had to know, had to know what—

He sucked in a breath, fingers digging into the shoulders of the coat until he found a—if smaller?—body mass.

—the Hell—

With a silent count, Dean deftly turned the bundle over. A mop of dark hair, pale skin bundled up in an adult-sized get up of a holy tax accountant. But it was wrong, wrong, wrong. The body was so small, so... young. He couldn't have been more than six, maybe seven. Light streaked over his pale features, colors gliding over his small, sleeping face.

—was going on?

Suddenly dark eyelashes fluttered against pale cheeks, whisper soft as the small child started to wake. Dean retracted his hands just as those too-intense blue eyes locked onto him, studying over the hunter with an unidentifiable emotion, eyebrows drawing together slightly. Passing light was caught and illuminated in his eyes, adding an ethereal depth to them.

Sam gave a relieved smile, as Dean remained stoic. "Cas, it's good to see you're alright." Castiel's eyes shot straight up at the taller hunter, flashing slightly.

Without warning, both Winchesters were flung backwards into the aisle, sliding on the short carpet with a muffled grunt at the impact and heat of carpet burn though clothing. Dean took a moment, scar burning hot before he scrambled to his feet, anger rising as Sam leapt up not far behind.

"Cas, what the Hell!"

The pint-sized angel glared at them, slowly standing up on unsteady feet. The collared shirt, tie and jacket hung down to mid-shin. The tan trench coat hung obscenely over his tiny form, running off his shoulders and well over the length of his arms, the coat pooling around his ankles a few times over.

"You.. know me? How?" The voice that came from the child was definitely youthful, but held that rocky, gravelly edge that could only ever be Castiel. It held too much power for a child, and left little doubt.

Sam shot a warning look at Dean that he either missed, or ignored.

"Of course we do, feathers. You hit your head on the way down?" Dean thumbed back at the broken glass window behind him. Cas's eyes followed the directional, then glanced around as if just noticing where he was, the damage that had been done.

"What happened, Cas?" Sam's voice once again brought Castiel from his train of thought, gentle and wary of being flung. Again. "We couldn't reach you for weeks, and now your vessel is so young."

Blue eyes narrowed at Sam as if preparing to send him sprawling back once more, had Dean not taken a step towards him and distracted him if briefly. "Why do you keep calling me Cas?"

Dean's eyebrows furrowed incredulously. "Dude, what..."

"Castiel," Sam tried, garnering his attention once more. "Do you know who we are?"

Dean whirled back on his younger brother faster than he thought he could. "What kind of question is-"

"No."

The soft response jolted the brothers, who both turned to stare at the tiny angel.

"What...?" Dean's brain seemed to temporarily disconnect, blinking rapidly. "How the Hell can you not remember us?"

A pang in his heart thudded as Castiel visibly winced.

"I do not know." Castiel murmured wistfully. He observed his smaller stature, how the clothes hung off him awkwardly. "I know who I am, what I am. I do not know who you both are." His gaze flickered up, studying both men before him. "I feel as though I know you, however. Or, I used to." The angel's face scrunched in concentration, as if trying to recall something he'd forgotten. Like the last two years.

"Dean," Sam called his attention softly. "What if.. whatever did this to Cas, messed with his memory, too?"

Glancing back at his brother, Dean shrugged a shoulder. "It's possible. But what's strong enough to go messing with an angel's grapefruit?"

Sam shrugged, "No idea. But it had to be something big to get the jump on Cas."

Dean grit his teeth before shaking his head. "We should get back to Bobby's. He might be able to help us figure out what pulled one over on The Littlest Angel over there—"

"I can hear you." Cas interjected suddenly, making both men look at him. He stared intently at the pew closest to his left, small face screwed in either concentration or constipation. Confusion and irritation flashed in his eyes, a small frown crossing his face as he seemed unimpressed with the broken pew in front of him ('_Strange..._') as he glanced back at the brothers, and Dean was reminded instantly of first meeting the angel in a barn full of painted symbols and blown lights.

"Our best bet is taking you with us to Bobby's." Dean supplied, taking on a tone Sam hadn't heard before from his brother. It was a calmer, soothing tone not usually heard from him. "We can figure out what did this to you, why, and how to fix it with us all together."

"Who is 'us'?"

"Team Free Will," The barest of pride in that grin adorned the hunter's face at the name of the band of misfits who stopped the Apocalypse. "You, me, Sam and Bobby. We'll help you."

He took a step towards the angelic child, watching him almost suspiciously. "You won't send me across the room again, will you?" Cas shook his head, a very human gesture but they decided to let it drop for now. Something like a stricken grimace flashed across his face before disappearing.

Dean smiled, patient like he's never shown before. "C'mon then, let's get on the road."

Cas nodded, pointedly ignoring the looks Sam was sending him and Dean and went to join the hunter. But his foot tangled up between the pool of his pants and the side of the coat. His arms shifted, spilling in a malfunctioning pinwheel form to try and catch himself before he fell flat on his face but seemed rather uncoordinated to brace his front. As the ground loomed closer he squeezed his eyes shut in prepare for a hard landing, when two hands suddenly swooped beneath his pin wheeling arms and scooped him up into the air.

Castiel didn't open his eyes even as he felt a warmth against his side, his head inadvertently tucked into the nook of the hunter's neck, nose pressed into hard muscle. He smelled of the earth and metal; sky and sun. The fresh churn of dirt, the newly born breezes over a thick forest. He smelled of oil and warmed metal, of sunlight and heat. It was strong, but not overpowering or unpleasant. If anything, Castiel buried himself into the scent. His addled mind and grace leapt at the foreign sense of familiarity he gained from a scent he was sure he'd never smelled before.

Dean chuckled, shifting his hold on the pint-sized angel on his hip, grinning. "Not the best coordination, eh, Cas?" The angel pulled back and frowned, squirming in his arms as if to be put down. "Oh, relax.. We got the long drive to South Dakota for you to pout." Glancing over at Sam, Dean cracked a grin at his brother's bitchface. "C'mon Sam! Get everything together and let's get on the road!"

Sam frowned, watching Dean carry Castiel over the sea of glass, out of the wrecked church and down to the parked Impala. He bent to gather up the dropped weapons and the rest of the discarded clothes. Something wasn't right, present problem excluded. Shaking his head, he glanced around the room once more. His eyes lingered on the pulpit for a brief moment before he carried the items out to the parking lot to stow into the trunk.

Dean was setting Cas in the back of the Impala, who watched him in return with a familiar intense stare. "We'll get you back to normal, Cas." He promised the angel under his breath, so only he would hear. Castiel made no returning remark, only nodding once more. The very human gesture unsettled Dean once more. Once Castiel was seated comfortably on the driver's side of the back bench seat, Dean pulled away to stand. But a tiny hand shot out, small fingers curling around Dean's larger ones.

"Thank you, Dean." His gravelly voice was soft and testing the roll of the hunter's name off his tongue and green met blue for a clashing, lengthy stare. Dean wouldn't admit, but hearing that voice, if a bit lighter in pre-pubescent lilt, say his name was something he'd missed more then he wanted to think about.

Dean made no move to respond, just giving a more-grimace-then-smirk before he hopped into the driver's seat while Sam slid into the passenger's side.

.:|:..:|:..:|:..:|:..:|:.

As the impala purred and pulled out of the spacious gravel driveway before heading down the road South Dakota-bound, a figure behind the pulpit of the broken church suddenly materialized into view. With no one around, he finally allowed his vessel to materialize back into sight. His gaze swept over the ruins of the church—shattered windows, chipped and shattered pews. Castiel certainly did a number on this little place.

He'd admit, for a few brief moments, that he was excited and scared for the younger Winchester to figure out his hiding place. To be found out. Sam had looked right at him, after all. He nearly felt as if the cloaking had failed. But the hunter had kept on his way, preoccupied with the problem at hand.

It was best.

For now, at least.

With a simple slight flick of his wrist, the place was suddenly brand new once more. The dirty stained glass windows gleamed like freshly placed glass. The pews were repaired, freshly shined and rearranged. The smattering of broken glass was gone and restored in an instant. The once tread-worn carpet was fuller. The place was cleaner, brighter.

The man behind the pulpit smirked, observing his handicraft with a sense of pride. It had been a long time since he did restoration; well, without a purpose, anyway. Besides covering up the Littlest Angel's crash landing. The thought made his smirk darken into a gradual frown. He honestly had no idea who would vindictively mess with his little brother. Sure, he'd surely have made some enemies while hanging around those two trouble-magnet Winchester brothers, but this was major work. Only some major mojo could work something to this caliber.

The only question was, what could do that?

A part of him, a significantly-sized one at that, told him he shouldn't get involved. He'd done what he had to survive this far—even hiding out in his own personal virtual reality. Why throw a spanner in now?

Well, he certainly wouldn't jump into any fight. But a bit of investigating wouldn't exactly hurt the status quo, would it?

With a smirk, the figure snapped his fingers and left behind a building that was none-the-wiser of what had transpired under its tattered shingle roof.

/\\/\\/\\/\

It was some time after they continually skirted past exits for Kansas on their way up that they decided to hit the next motel for the night. Both brothers kept continually smothering down yawns, and a quick glance at the back seat took inventory of Cas at least laying down across the seat though turned in a way that it was impossible to see if he was truly awake or not.

Pulling into the motel's parking lot, he glanced at Sam.

"Your turn, man." At Sam's bitch face, Dean rolled his eyes, making a show of undoing his seat belt. "Unless you want to deal with the cranky little angel-boy in the backseat, who might blow your ass back to that church."

Dean chuckled as Sam quickly moved to go check in with the front desk.

But, speaking of the cranky little angel...

Sighing, Dean stood and made his way to the back seat, prying the door open carefully. "Cas?" The bundle of dark hair and tan coat didn't budge. It was kind of adorable, him snuggled up in the oversized clothing. But he couldn't very well leave him out in the car. Gently, he found Cas' shoulder and shook. "C'mon Cas, there'll be a bed softer then my baby's backseat."

A muffled reply as blue eyes cracked open enough to scowl at Dean.

Dean shot him a confused look, "What was that?"

"'M not a baby." The small voice grumbled lowly. But before Dean could think about it, small hands hesitantly lifted towards him in what was an unmistakably childish gesture.

"But you want to be carried?" The remark flew from his mouth before his malfunctioning, near non-existent brain-to-mouth filter could stop it, tired grin sliding on his face.

Castiel frowned, pulling his hands back to his small body quickly as if his retort physically hurt.

Damn it.

Sighing, he reached in, plucking a protesting Cas off the seat once more. "C'mon, I thought you got all the sulking out on the ride up." That didn't help the frown lighten as he tried to settle Castiel in his arms, but his wriggling was getting on his nerves. "I'm sorry, okay? This whole thing is pretty freakin' weird, you gotta admit."

The flat look, one that reminded Dean of _his_ Cas, one that Dean was sure if Cas was gauging his intelligence level with his eye sight alone, made Dean grin. Of course Cas would know; he was the one experiencing it.

But, at least he stopped moving.

"We're in room nine," Sam dutifully reported as he approached the pair, eyeing them as he approached. Castiel was still enrobed in the massive trench coat, bundled up in Dean's arm and tucked against his chest as his tiny hands fisted the collar of his jacket for a sense of stability.

Weird was a severe understatement at this point.

They opened the trunk, taking their respective duffel bags as they headed to their designated room. It was the last one with two beds, but at least they were decently sized. Bags dumped by claimed beds, Dean set Cas down on his bed before flopping down next to him. The angel was momentarily airborne, squeaking as he bounced harmlessly on the mattress. Dean only chuckled at the indignant scowl that earned him.

Dean had no plans, other than shuck some clothing and catch a few good hours' sleep. Get some good breakfast, then hopefully get closer to South Dakota by tomorrow night. The bed next to his squeaked as Sam sat on it, pinning a stare at the older brother until Dean groaned and met his expectant stare.

"Can't exactly sleep with someone staring holes in my head, Sam."

"What are we going to do about Cas' stuff?" Castiel looked up from his investigation of the pillows at Sam.

"Hold it safe until he's back to his normal self, I guess." Dean deflected easily enough.

Sam sighed, as if he were talking to a five year old. "No, I mean, he's going to need.. stuff, Dean. Clothes, mainly." At Dean's more-or-less vacant stare, Sam quipped, "We can't exactly take a miniature angel out in public in a dress shirt the size of a dress."

Castiel made an indignant noise, but busied himself with the pillows once more.

Sam barely had time to catch the keys as Dean haphazardly lobbed them towards his head.

"We passed a Wal-Mart on the way. Have fun."

"Just get him ready for bed, jerk." Pulling one of his better bitchfaces, he made his way out of the small hotel room, closing it a little more forcefully then he ought to.

"Bitch!" Dean snapped only half-heartedly at the door. Rolling his shoulders, he glanced up at Cas, who watched him with quiet blue eyes. "It's, ah, our thing, Cas." He murmured off-handedly before rolling to sit up. "C'mon, then. We should get you cleaned up."

Castiel climbed off the bed carefully, still being followed by the lengthy trench coat as Dean led the way back to the small bathroom.

"Alright, time to get rid of the coat, Cas." Castiel pulled the coat closer to himself, frowning up at the hunter. "C'mon, you can't seriously get cleaned up still wearing it." The frown deepened, and Castiel took a step away from him. Dean blew out a frustrated breath of air, trying his best to keep calm. "How about I put it on top of my bag? That way you know exactly where it is."

Cas seemed to consider this for a moment.

"It'll be there after we're done, if you want to put it back on." Dean could have laughed at the relieved look on his face, but instead smiled back as he helped the angel out of the coat. Folding and rolling it up, he stepped out of the bathroom to place the coat next to the duffle bag as he rifled through it for a decent shirt, as dress shirts did not make good sleep wear. Dean paused, staring at the coat next to his bag before he sighed softly, placing it on top before returning to the bathroom.

Castiel was smiling the best he knew how.

.:|:..:|:..:|:..:|:..:|:.

"Alright, off with the shirt. Wipe you off, dress and bed."

Slipping the tie off Cas' head hadn't been that difficult, but it seemed like he had grown an unhealthy attachment to Jimmy Novak's shirt, as well as his strange choice in coat wear. But Castiel had curled inward as he reached for the buttons, even so much as to cross his smaller arms in front of his chest.

"What now?" He hadn't meant to snap, but this was getting a bit old, and Dean wanted to get some sleep sometime before dawn broke.

Castiel hesitated, the sharp tone catching him off-guard before he started to remove the shirt himself. The dirty dress shirt slid to the ground as Castiel turned to contemplate the warm, wet washcloth on the sink. But that wasn't what caught his eye.

Sprouting from his small shoulder blades was a pair of charcoal, downy wings.

They were small; smaller then Dean would've expected. But then again, Dean also thought that his eyes would be, sort of, melting out of his skull when he saw them.

"Jesus Christ..."

Castiel seemed to flinch, drawing his wings in snug to his back and if Dean didn't know any better, they were merging in with his back and disappearing right in front of him.

"H-Hey, no, Cas. They're fine." He tried to amend, catching his eye over his shoulder as Castiel watched him carefully. "Just, surprised me, is all. I thought my eyes would be melting by now."

Castiel made a non-committal noise, turning back to the diligent cleaning of his vessel (body?) as Dean had verbally instructed him.

"Can I see them?"

The silence echoed in the small bathroom, except for the diligent scratch of rough wash cloth against skin. He thought, for a moment, that he'd offended Cas until the wings unfurled from his back. They beat once before spreading out to their full length.

From joint to tip, they couldn't have been longer than his elbow to wrist. And upon closer inspection, they weren't even uniform gray. They varied in shade and depth, some tipped to a near inky black. As they shifted and moved naturally with his movements, Dean could see they were coated, refracting the crappy light and exploding in a myriad of colors not unlike motor oil.

They were beautiful.

He reached out curiously, wondering if they were as soft as they looked, if that shine was oil or natural feather sheen...

"Dean?"

"Mm?" Dean looked over at a now cleaner angel, though he looked decidedly tired.

"I was not entirely truthful to you and, Sam." Castiel shifted slightly, looking almost an echo of nervousness and avoiding looking up at Dean. "I do not remember him, but I—" He paused, struggling to correctly word what was cooking in that tiny head of his. "I do remember, echoes of you." Cas finally admitted, glancing up at Dean. He looked every bit nervous and almost scared as he could, bothered by the large chunk of memory loss that he was ailed with, and the loss of the memories of someone so apparently close to him.

Dean took a deep breath, before carding his fingers through his dark hair, willing him to relax.

"We will figure out what happened to you, Cas. I promise. And get your memories back, even if I have to retell you myself." He reached over for the shirt he brought with him, taking the pocket knife he carried constantly and slit the back up in two long parallel lines.

"C'mon, dressed and bed."

He began slipping the old shirt over Castiel's head, missing the awed look that washed over his face at the simple gestures made for him. Getting the wings through the long slits was little trouble, though he had finally got some of his answers (_softest_ damn things he'd ever felt; natural sheen) he'd wanted earlier. Said wings were drooping closer to the floor as the angel yawned, leaning slightly against the counter.

Dean smiled at the sight; even if his fatigue was worrisome.

Castiel looked up, blue meeting green for a long moment. Just as he reached up towards Dean, the older Winchester leaned down, sweeping him up into his arms. That was also worrisome; Cas being so, well, what would the word be? Codependent? Clingy?

Dean tried to put it in the back of his mind as he carried him over to the bed.

Leaving the Littlest Angel on the bed, Dean rifled through his bag for decent clothes and shuffling off to a shower.

Castiel sat on the bed where he had been left, staring at where Dean had disappeared until the sounds of the shower filled the small room. He scramble off the bed, wings fluttering with his movements as he slid off the thin blanket and padded over to where his coat lay on the floor. He turned it over once, twice, eyeing the dirty tan material for several minutes before placing it back on top of the bag just as the shower shut off.

There; he'd know exactly where it was later.

Shuffling back over to the bed, he peeled the layers back carefully before scrambling back on top of the mattress. Castiel had just snuggled up under the blanket as the bathroom door swung open and a pile of dirty clothes was haphazardly thrown towards his bag before he caught sight of Dean dressed in sleep pants and a white loose t-shirt.

"We'll worry about properly bathing you tomorrow, when you have clothes to wear." Dean peeled back the layers before flopping down on his back with a contented sigh. He looked over, meeting the blue stare and for a moment Dean could swear it was the old Cas, just miniaturized.

But no; mini and forgetful. Of him, it seemed. Or, most of him.

That hurt more then he should let it.

But it also gave him a sense of hope. There was a shred of himself still in his best friend's memory; he just had to dig it out, is all.

"You need anything else?"

"No."

"Good." Bedtime, then.

Rolling over, he snapped off the light on the stand between the two beds. The room was sunk into darkness, except for a small red incandescent light from the cheap plastic alarm clock next to the lamp. He relaxed into the grungy mattress, letting some of the worry wash away as his frame creaked, popped and finally settled. Lying on his side, facing the door as protection to Precious Moments at his side.

While he was damn sure Cas could very well protect himself, something about his state—being smaller, losing part of his memory—had the protective ember stoking brighter and burning hotter.

He'd protect the small angel; after all, how many times had Cas saved his ass for him?

Dean relaxed as he listened to the breathing of the other body, relaxing as the pattern became slower, more even just as—

"Good night, Dean."

This was the very least he could do.

"G'night, Cas."

He stayed awake long after Cas had finally fallen asleep, merely listening to his breathing and the sounds of nature outside until his eyes began to grow heavy.

He'd have to call Bobby soon, first thing tomorrow. Showing up on his doorstep with a kid angel wouldn't go over too well with the older hunter. Even if that kid angel had saved their asses many times over.

He yawned into the darkness of the room.

Sam had been gone for quite some time. He ought to get up, call him or go look for him—

The urge to sleep grew stronger; calming and tempting. Was it just him, or was the bed feeling softer than the usual motel mattress?

Just as he was on the last edge of consciousness the mattress behind him squeaked and shifted. A soft whisper of small locks brushed against the material of his shirt, a warmth snuggling up to him as he finally fell into a quiet, dreamless sleep.

/\\/\\/\\/\

Sam hated Wal-Mart.

Like, really _hated_ Wal-Mart.

Mainly, everything that the store encompassed. From the jarring florescent lighting, to the falsely-cheery staff greeting him at all hours of the day. Not that he frequented Wal-Mart all that often, but that girl was _way_ too cheery for, what, _three in the morning_?

And the Rollback Smilie reminded him too much of The Comedian.

Plus, he always felt so out of place among the other shoppers. Give him a thrift store any day—anything but Wal-Mart.

He could also go on about how Wal-Mart was eating the hearts of Mom and Pop stores, but frankly Sam was too tired for that internal monologue and wanted to just focus on grabbing what clothes he could and go catch some sleep.

He was browsing a rack of clearance shirts, eyeing a white shirt about Castiel's size with a rather scripty glittery gold font across the front reading '_Angel_' with a pair of stenciled angel wings in the same glittery gold typography on the back and wondering how pissed Dean would be if he got it. It might be evidence at just how tired he was if he was contemplating whatever punishment may come if only to see Dean's face when he saw it.

Sleep; desperately needed.

A low voice chuckled over his shoulder, and he turned to see a man peering at the shirt in his hands. He reached just below his shoulder, soft brown hair that coasted the edge of gold. A green jogging jacket thrown haphazardly over a Katy Perry shirt of all things, baggy faded jeans and gold yellow converse.

"The wonders you find at Wal-Mart, huh?" The man turned to look up at Sam, and he couldn't help it; his breath caught in his throat. Those eyes were a dazzling shade of golden hazel with just the barest hint of green, like pure sunlight streaming through the leaves of a tree. They held a light of playfulness, smiling brighter than the small smirk on his face. They reminded him so much of—

He slammed that mental train down immediately.

No. No.

Don't do that to yourself, Sam.

The man's smirk twitched and fell slightly, the happiness in his eyes falling into a confused worry. Oh, right. He should respond, shouldn't he?

"Heh, yeah." Sam wanted to turn contemplative eyes back to the shirt in question, but the man's eyes reminded him of past times, of what he had lost that he didn't want to look away just yet, didn't want to blink in case he was gone in another second. But staring was rude and the man had said something else and he'd missed it –

"What?"

The man chuckled, shaking his head. "Maybe you should go to bed, kid. I asked why're you out shopping this late, for kids clothing none-the-less?" He eyed Sam with half-faked concern.

Years of lying saved his ass almost immediately. "My brother's kid. We're on a trip back home, and we lost his clothes. And, well, can't expect a six year old to run around in the same clothes for a few days."

The stranger hummed in the back of his throat, turning to flicker through the shirts. "Hmm, I think you should get it." Sam blinked slightly. "The shirt, I mean. Why not piss dad off by buying his son a girly shirt?"

The younger Winchester was laughing quietly to himself (more at the idea of _Castiel_ being his nephew; it was so strange it was laughable), but the shirt stayed on the rack. "Nah, he has enough issues to worry about right now."

"Spoilsport." The stranger teased in a manner that left Sam swimming in nostalgia and grief.

"You never told me why you were shopping." Sam offered, not quite willing to leave the presence of the man even of his arms were full of quite a bit of children's wear.

"Eh, early in the morning; no other customers. Easier to get in and out."

"But the kids' section?"

"What, I needed an excuse to talk to the cute, tired giant pouring over every piece of kids' clothes?" Sam's gaze snapped up, but the stranger shrugged, flipping out a dark blue pair of pants with a rather interesting display of stars across the front and down the side before he tossed it with a flourish to land on Sam's head. Sam pulled the trousers off his head to scowl at the stranger, only to find a teasing grin aimed at him.

"Don't you have better things to do then annoy me?" He shot back, starting to get annoyed with this random stranger's penchant for jogging his memory.

But he barely ruffled his feathers (_'Damn it! Stop the trip down memory lane!'_), if at all.

"Aw, Sammy, do I annoy you?"

Sam merely scoffed, turning away from the stranger to look at another rack. Just as he lingered over the material his brain managed to catch up to him, eyes widening. Slowly, he turned back around to meet the expectant gaze. His free hand discreetly sliding back to the hem of his jeans, to the few precautionary measures he kept on him at all times.

"Who are you." He demanded, eyes narrowed at the shorter man.

"What's with the hostility?" Came the jovial response, eyes flitting momentarily to the rack beside him before back at the angered moose in front of him. "I'm just a shopper—"

"Cut the act. I never told you my name."

Those bright mottled eyes suddenly narrowed in thought before he swore under his breath, and he actually laughed. "Slipped up. I tend to do that around you, don't I, Sam?"

"The Hell are you talking—"

The sound of wind through tattered paper rustled behind him, just before the man standing in front of him grinned sheepishly before disappearing in a wave of coiling blue smoke. He watched the wisps curl before fading out of existence, swallowing as he turned around to face an arch angel he'd assumed was dead.

That same golden brown hair, bright gold eyes dappled just with the hint of green. A casual smirk across his face, though as always his emotions showed best in his eyes. They were cautious, though happy. A small vein of fatigue and discomfort he didn't understand.

But overall, it was him.

In a quick movement, he pulled a flask of salted holy water from his back pocket, flicking the contents onto the archangel by reflex alone. He just let himself be tested, lips thinning in mild annoyance but in a simple flick the water was gone. A small smirk twitching back into place.

"Hey, Sammy."

Sam let out a breath he'd been holding for quite some time now.

".. _Gabriel_..."

* * *

**A/N:** How many nerdy references did you spot?

Please, feel free to review. Let me know what you thought?

... They do make me work faster.

/panhandles for attention

... Y'all know I love you, random strangers I've never met.

**~SW7**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**OTL I'm so sorry it took me so long to get an update done. Three months, very bad of me. But the beginning just wasn't coming out like I wanted it to and we can all blame Sam.

Anyway, tiny!Cas hugs to everyone who reviewed last chapter, and especially to anyone who caught the Watchmen/JDM reference. Anyone who reviews this chapter gets cuddles from our shrunken angel of Thursday and some apple pie ice cream! And a complementary dentist visit as this chapter is mostly sugar. With some Bobby-flavored!angst thrown in.

I won't take up too much time with the author's note, as everyone's waited oh-so patiently. :3 So, here's the next installment.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything, intentionally put or otherwise.

* * *

They remained stock still, taking in the appearance of one another. Though Sam was unaware of Gabriel's observation of him just hours ago, the archangel took his time drinking in the tall hunter's appearance. Sam, in turn, took in Gabriel's appearance. The small lines on his vessel that had nothing to do with laughter. He looked, well, worn out. And the pit in his stomach, a usually constant chasm ever since before he had jumped into the pit with Lucifer as his co-pilot, welled up with what might have been concern for the archangel/trickster/pagan god that had not only killed his brother multiple times over, but had proceeded to pull pigtails in TV Land (Truthfully, Sam could never look at game shows the same way again, even something as docile as Wheel of Fortune.)

"You okay there, Samalam? Creepy staring was always Cassy's thing – not yours."

Sam snapped out of what had been a near-trance, glancing momentarily at the bundle of clothes in his arm and wonders if it's grown since he last added to it. He looks back at Gabriel, almost expecting him to be gone – a waking dream, a figment of his imagination from lack of coffee. But Gabriel is still there, an almost saddened smile curling at the corners of his lips, something like regret echoing in caramel eyes before it's gone in a flash and a more forced smile takes its place.

"Still here, kiddo. Wouldn't think of leaving before I get the interrogation part of the Winchester Return-From-the-Dead Program. So, hit me with your best shot," Gabriel paused, before the smile grew into a cheeky grin. "and fire away."

He wanted to ask so many questions. They curled to the front of his brain; _'How are you alive?'_, _'Where have you been?'_ or even, and more importantly in some regards, _'How did you find me?'_because the sigils on his ribcage should have protected him from any prying angel's eyes – even an archangel's.

But the only question Sam got to ask coherently was, "Katy Perry? Really?" because Gabriel was wearing the same shirt his doppelganger had been wearing.

The question took Gabriel by rare surprise and a laugh escaped him. Sam felt as if the world could have magically rid itself of the monsters roaming under people's closets and beds, miracles all over the globe – it hardly compared to making the archangel laugh.

"That isn't the question you want to ask," Gabriel managed through his quiet chuckles. "But any singer that sings about candy? A-okay in my book." He held up his hand, curling and pinching his thumb and index fingertips into a circle. The cherry on top was a ridiculous wink to accompany the hand gesture. Sam rolled his eyes, but hid away a smile.

"But, how about we blow this popsicle stand, Samwich? There's only so much of Wal-Mart even I can take." Gabriel lifted a hand and, instead of placing fingertips on his temple, curled his hand into the nook of his elbow. The sound of ripped paper completely surrounded Sam, and one minute they were standing in Wal-Mart with nil space between them, Sam's arm full of child-sized clothes, and the next –

...he was suddenly standing smack-dab in the middle of the motel room he and Dean had checked into for some rest. His armful of items he had collected was gathered into a few bags off to the side. It almost looked like more than he had gathered (and had intended to purchase, even if on someone else's dime.) He spied his brother sleeping soundly in the bed adjacent to his, snoring softly with an arm flung up to curl a pillow against him. Dean would deny with his last breath that it was cuddling. Beside him, snuggled up against his branded shoulder, was the child-sized angel equally as deep asleep as the hunter. Which was strange that they were still asleep; hunter's instinct usually had them awake at the slightest sound. Either his brother was that exhausted, or –

"Just a bit of influence for them to sleep deeper." Sam whirled around to look at the archangel critically. Gabriel almost seemed affronted. Almost. "What? I needed to check out Cassy's noggin, and your chucklehead brother just would not sleep. So, I might have laid a stronger suggestion for sleep." He shrugged, moving to look at the small sleeping child, ignoring the fierce look Sam threw his way at mentioning using his mojo—on any of them.

"How are you alive, Gabriel? I— we thought you were dead... And how did you know about Castiel?" He paused, thoughts jumbling together. "How did you know where to find us?"

Gabriel paused from his inspection of the bed to look back at Sam curiously. He sat on Sam's bed, bouncing on the mattress once, twice before patting the spot next to him invitingly. Sam didn't budge. "Oh, come on, Samsquatch. I won't bite unless you want me to." With a small eyebrow wiggle, he grinned at Sam's eye roll. "If you're not careful, they'll stick that way."

Sam pulled a bitch face, but sat down on the other side of the bed against his better judgment. "That doesn't make sense."

"... Your face doesn't make sense."

He raised an eyebrow. "Great comeback."

Gabriel grinned merrily, pulling a Snickers from his pocket. "I try."

Sam frowned, before shaking his head. He leaned back on the bed, propped up by his elbows. Gabriel moved to mimic him. "Are you going to answer me?"

"What'cha mean, kiddo?"

"My questions, Gabriel."

The archangel sighed, chewing on his candy bar if only as a means to think. "I don't know why I'm back. One minute I'm fighting Luci, I get shivved with my own blade—" He wanted to say Sam's eyes widening and mild look of alarm and surprise resolutely did not make him feel guilty. He hadn't felt guilty in a long, long, long time. That he'd admit to. But maybe he could have worded that better. "—next I'm waking up in a corn field in Iowa with barely any mojo to spare. So I hid out in TV Land until my strength came back." There was something far-away in his eyes, but he switched directions before he could go on. "Next thing I know, the Apocalypse was averted and Castiel's being flung from the skies. Which, incidentally, is how I found you two." Done with his candy bar, he threw the wrapper in the general direction of the trashcan, not bothering to look if it made it in. "But I'll explain that once Dean-o's awake. Got too much to do to repeat myself, and  
every growing moose needs his rest."

Sam moved to protest—he wasn't tired, not really—if only to keep Gabriel talking and just be here and not disappear once he slipped into sleep. The look in his honey eyes softened to a shade of molten caramel, as Gabriel lifted a hand to frame Sam's cheek.

"Sleep, Sam." Gabriel commanded gently.

"But—" He could feel the warmth the archangel radiated through that one point of contact, gentle tendrils of, of something that soothed every ache and worry and had him leaning towards it even as he laid back against the stiff mattress and thin sheets.

"Sleep..."

And he did.

/\\/\\/\\/

Among the variety of things Sam had woken up to over his life; stage-whisper-yelling wasn't exactly a stranger. Vague memories of being younger, his father and brother arguing over a trivial thing that had happened during their latest hunt while the youngest slept soundly, or so they had thought. Dean and Bobby sometimes still did it, whether with each other or on the phone. But this time, Sam was having trouble dragging back the memories from the last day or so. Who could Dean be arguing with?

Let's see... The wendigo hunt had finally wrapped up, they stopped to watch the meteor shower, The Big Shooting Star that collided into a church, finding out the Big Shooting Star was Castiel (small and amnesiac), stopping at a hotel, Wal-Mart, Gabriel...

Gabriel.

"— .. won't let me wake him up. We need to go soon—the sooner we get to Bobby's..."

"I think you ought to be more focused on Precious Moments and the Muffin That Was, instead of the sleeping moose."

"What—Cas, that's too big, you'll choke—"

"That's what he said."

"Shut up, short stack. At least tear it up, eat in smaller bites."

Finally adventuring to unbury his head from his pillow to face the inevitable storm that loomed, the younger Winchester was assaulted by what smelled like a bakery that had set up shop in their motel room. Turning over, Sam eyed the site in front of him; the hotel table was literally covered in baked goods, Dean hovering next to Castiel while showing him to rip up what looked like a blueberry muffin into smaller bites. A graveyard of sampled and destroyed food lay in front on him, as well as on him and all over the floor. Occasionally he would shoot a dark look that looked entirely too heavy on such a young face towards the archangel, though he seemed to ignore them. Gabriel had stolen the other chair, leaning back on the back legs and looking very much like the cat that ate the canary.

He was, unfortunately, the one who noticed Sam awaken first. "He's alive!"

Sam rolled his eyes and nodded at Dean, moving towards the table. "So, what is this?"

"Eh, peace offering, of sorts." He nudged a carrot muffin towards Sam.

He took it, eyeing it with mild apprehension before nibbling it. The damn thing was still warm. "What has he told you?"

"Oh, not much." Gabriel commented flippantly. "Threats, snark; the patented Dean Winchester attitude."

Sam threw him a look. "Not you."

Dean snorted, taking a bite out of an apple turnover once Cas had decided he liked the blueberry muffin. "Him seeing Cas fall –" He was interrupted by a pointed cough by Gabriel. "Crash, excuse me – meeting up with you at Wal-Mart, his heroic flee into TV Land once he was mysteriously brought back to life," Gabriel had coughed again, but Dean ignored this one. "Not much that was particularly useful, besides apparently Cas didn't Fall, so much as Crash."

Throwing Gabriel a curious look, "There's a difference?"

The archangel gave an exasperated sigh like he was dealing with explaining rocket science to a three year old. "There is, kiddo. He didn't so much as Fall as Crashed, because all of his mojo is still swirling around in there. But someone, something put a lid on it. There, but inaccessible. While his grace in incommunicado, the John he's riding will have some influence—unconsciously, of course. The soul is gone, but the vessel still retains muscle memory."

It was strange, hearing Gabriel, trickster-, pagan-god-parading extraordinaire sound so serious. It made the brothers straighten up slightly. Castiel had found interest in his bakery graveyard, resolutely looking anywhere but the two hunters and his older brother.

"But, wait," Dean drawled slowly, thinking back to the church. "He pushed us back with his mojo, and he was perfectly fine when we found him. Not a scratch."

Gabriel shrugged, rocking slightly on his chair. "So the lid might have a crack or two in it—mojo may seep out, but he wouldn't be able to properly control it."

"But you can pop the lid, right?" Came the hopeful question. "Get him back to his old, awkward Holy Tax Accountant self?"

"I can, but I won't." Gabriel stuck an orange lollipop into his mouth.

Dean snapped upright, visibly bristling at Gabriel's non-challance. "Why the Hell not!"

"Because, Dean-o," Gabriel drawled, his tone harsh as he removed the sucker to speak. Amber eyes were lit with a smoldering impatience and bordering on anger. "Popping the box without knowing what did it, how it did it? Severe consequences, potentially." That, at least, got Dean to settle back a bit.

"So, what you're saying is, if you help him now, you could potentially hurt him more than help?" Sam asked, glancing between the other three occupants at the table.

Gabriel turned towards Sam, the darker look vanishing as the archangel beamed at the younger Winchester. "Got it in one, Captain Obvious!" He reached over, fluffing the mess of Sam's long hair almost affectionately.

Groaning and fighting back a smile, Sam pushed away his hand. "Don't do that."

"Spoilsport."

"Immature –"

"Well, if you're done with flirting with each other..." Dean cut in awkwardly, glancing down at Castiel. "You done eating? Need to get you cleaned up and head out of here."

"I'm done." The child-sized angel hopped down from the chair before wandering to the bathroom. Dean trailed after him, grabbing the bag of clothes Sam had brought back before following the angel.

Now left alone in only a mild awkward pause and evading eye contact for the briefest of moments, Sam cleared his throat softly, eliciting a chuckle from Gabriel.

"So.."

"Yeah."

"You'll let us know if you find anything?"

"Of course, Samsquatch. That is still my baby bro."

Sam threw him a hard look, persistently ignoring the fluttering feeling that was steadily rising in his stomach. "You could just call me Sam, Gabriel."

There was a pause as he looked towards the ceiling in thought, head tilting side-to-side in contemplation. "Sam, Sam... Sam." Sam's heart was resolutely not skipping beats at how Gabriel said his name, several times. "Mmmnaaah." The short angel grinned, fluffing up Sam's hair once more before he stood up. "Making nicknames for you is too fun."

Samuel Winchester certainly did not blush at that.

The hand in his hair lingered, fingers lacing through soft brown hair and slowly straightening out his bed head. Sam's hazel eyes trailed up his arm, to his shoulder before meeting that intense pair studying him already. There was something in Gabriel's golden eyes—dark, warm, affectionate. Gently, the hair was swept from his face with such tenderness that Sam nearly ached with it—until he remembered just who this was, Gabriel the Archangel who had killed his brother so, so, so many times at Mystery Spot and put him through misery in TV Land.

A small frown started tugging at Gabriel's lips, mouth opening to speak until –

"Sam! What the Hell?"

Gabriel grinned, giving a gentle tug at a strand of hair playfully. "Guess that's my cue. Later, kiddo."

Dean marched out to the main room just as Gabriel was gone in a flap of his wings, but Sam was barely even aware of his brother or the white shirt that rained golden glitter all over the carpet of the room. He was only aware of the warm echo of fingers carded through his hair, and an affectionate pair of golden eyes look pained as he flew off.

/\\/\\/\\/

After but a few moments of ranting at a disconnected Sam about the fact he got one of The Girliest Shirts Wal-Mart had to offer— and finally figuring out that Sam wasn't listening to a single word he said, he lobbed the glittery monster at his head and stalked back off to the bathroom. Cas was balanced on the lip of the tub, looking up at the hunter innocently—smears of blueberry stains were spread even worse over his face and hands, Hell even on his shirt. Chuckling to himself, Dean motioned for him to stand.

"A bit hard to clean things without water."

Castiel looked put out, but stood per request. "I could not.. reach it." He muttered haltingly, staring at the checkered tile floor. "And I could not figure out how to use the tub faucet."

Shaking his head slightly, the hunter leaned down, scooping up the small angel before setting him on the sink counter. "Bit hard to do that, being pint sized an' all."

Dean hated the words as soon as they left his mouth.

The child froze, hand halfway stretched for the tap before he found himself again and busied himself with cleaning the blueberry off resolutely. But he looked so.. sad.

Damn his mouth.

"Cas, you know we're going to fix this, right?"

"Of course, Dean." The tone was flat, clipped; if anything said just to get him to shut up.

"I mean it –" He gently ran his hand through the shock of messy, dark hair, carding through it and making it stand up even more. "We'll get you back, right as rain. Just, trust me, okay?"

A small pair of intensely blue eyes turned up to regard him, almost as if he was staring through him—the feeling was familiar, but still unnerving. "I believe you, Dean. I already trust you." A warmth flooded through Dean's chest, though try as he might to smother it down it just wouldn't stick.

A sudden fluttering, not unlike papers in the wind, caught his attention as a small pair of black wings that had otherwise been absent slipped through the slits in the back of the shirt in a smooth motion. They flapped once, twice before partially folding against his back in what looked like a relaxed manner. It took a solid moment for Dean to regain his thoughts—admittingly, he had forgot about Cas' wings. He should have mentioned something about it when Gabriel was here (he's still curious as to why he has eyes, even if he does enjoy watching the angel's wings move), but figures this will hardly be the last they see of Gabriel. Especially after he witnessed that.. moment between him and Sam, even if he still isn't sure what exactly happened. But maybe, just maybe, he doesn't want to find out.

There was a chance he wouldn't get any information about the wings from Cas, who barely remembered the past few years. But it was worth a shot, right?

"So, Cas," He calls for his attention carefully, and small, deep blue eyes glance up at him in the mirror. Silently urging him on as he cleans himself. "How are you able to hide your wings? Do you know?"

There's a long pause, as Cas seems to mull the answer over while washing himself. Dean shifts his gaze to stare at the curtain, allowing himself to be lulled into a calm state with nothing but the slosh of water and rustle of fabric. Occasionally his gaze drifts over, making sure Castiel is okay or doing an okay job at cleaning himself. His thoughts continue to drift, however, from the events of the past day plus. The first thing he needed to do was call Bobby, once they were on the road. Catch him up to speed, maybe even get him working on how to find out what tagged Cas as a child. He was so lost in his own thoughts, Dean almost missed Castiel's response.

"It's a seal."

"'Seal'?"

He nodded, then started to shuck the oversized shirt. Dean reached out, helping him out of it. His fingers gently coaxed downy soft wings through the slits before tugging it gently over his head.  
"Watch," He commanded softly, a pebbly squeak, as he remained still until Dean finally nodded his assent. The wings flapped once, before tucking up against his back. They slowly started to mold back with his back, the dark color spreading up in an intricate fan to resemble the wings held within in the very same oily black of his feathers. "Sealed," Castiel repeated, before quick as a snap his wings flared out, fanned through the air before settling.

Dean was utterly speechless, nodding to himself. "Seals, okay. Always seals with you angels..." He rifled through the bag for the least-testosterone-damaging clothing before setting them out for Castiel to change into. He decided against opening new wing slits in these clothes – Castiel seemingly didn't have must trust in Sam, something Dean hoped to rectify but might take some time. Reaching forward, his knuckles brushed against the very tips of the long black pinion feathers, unable to hide a smile as the small wings twitched and flapped awkwardly for a moment, before settling back.

Dean was halfway through showing Cas how to dress, mind off on the moon. He ought to let sleeping dogs lie for now. But, he couldn't let some things rest. "So, why do you let me see them?"

Castiel blinked, looking up at Dean with such an open look that toed the line of sadness. It reminded him of a barn painted in every religious symbol they could find, with an Angel that Raised Him From Perdition and, _'You don't think you deserve to be saved.'_

It hurt, knowing he was basically back at square one point five now, with his munchkin angel.

"I trust you, Dean."

This time, if he let the warmth spread without shoving it back down, well, that was his own damn business.

/\\/\\/\\/

They'd just gotten on the road after leaving the motel; Dean driving and Sam as his shotgun, with Castiel nestled in the back with his overcoat. He was busy investigating what Sam had brought back, digging through the clothes and what looked like various forms of childish entertainment. Sam had to smile as he watched Cas poke around a box of crayons carefully, knowing full and well that Gabriel was the source of those.

"So," Sam started carefully, looking back at Dean. It was hard to get a current grasp on his mood – he looked almost as ease, but his stress tells were going off. "You seem to be taking Gabriel's whole resurrection thing rather well."

Dean's head snapped so quick Sam thought he might give himself whiplash.

"... what?"

"When I woke up, and saw Gabriel standing over Cas..." There hadn't been words. He'd just flown into action. "I tried to shank him."

"Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah. The dick pinned me up against the wall—we were yelling at each other pretty loud, I have no idea how you slept so frigging sound." Shaking his head, he rubbed his neck slightly. "Then Cas wakes up, taps into the bit of angel mojo he can and sent Gabriel through the TV. The look on his face was worth it." Dean chuckled, relaxing back into his seat.

Sam was having trouble wrapping his head around this. How had he slept through a fight? Angel mojo, maybe? And Castiel getting the jump on Gabriel? Something's weren't adding up. It kind of did explain Castiel's dark looks this morning, however.

"So, Gabriel fixed the TV, fixed up breakfast and we'd been working on that for a while until you woke up." The older Winchester shook his head, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

Dean snuck a glance at his younger brother. "How're you handling him being back?"

Sam shrugged, staring out the window. "Okay, I guess. It's nice, that he seems to be on our side." He paused, looking thoughtful. "If he can help with Castiel, maybe he can help with Bobby, and help figure out what raised me from Lucifer's box."

The conversation dropped, but things seemed lighter. More hopeful.

A regained ally helped.

/\\/\\/\\/

They'd been on the road for a few hours, fringing on mid-afternoon by the time they called Bobby. Nestled into an off-road gas station that only had two working self-service pumps coated in a fine layer of road dust. But it was working, and Baby could do with a fill-up.

Dean leaned against the bumper of the impala, watching the meter scroll idly by. The faint sounds of Sam chatting with Bobby—from the sounds of it, the older hunter wasn't all too happy. But the way things were progressing, they'd be back by evening (barring some broken speed laws...). Then they could work on figuring out what did this to Cas. And get Bobby out of his contract, of course.

In the backseat of the vintage car, Castiel was nestled up with not only his overcoat but one of Dean's as well in a bastardized coat nest fitting of a tiny angel (or, at least, the one that hung around them.) Despite after a good night's sleep and a good breakfast, the mini angel had fallen asleep after they had left the hotel. It was a relief to know that at least Castiel wasn't fallen—but it sometimes left Dean feeling unsettled. If he were honest with himself, a part of his memory kept flickering back to his trip to 2014, and seeing a very human, very broken, former-Angel-of-the-Lord unnerved the hunter. He wouldn't hesitate to help out Cas if he had fallen—he had, after Van Nuys went down, when Cas had called him from a hospital in Louisiana. A part of him convinces the needling worry that he would never let Cas stumble down that path.

But, what if—

The older Winchester blinked as the door to the backseat suddenly clicked open and swung out. Cas climbed out, scrubbing almost fitfully at his eyes to rid them of sleep. His dark hair was tousled and twisted into gravity-defying positions, vainly attempted to be swept back by smaller hands as the child-sized angel yawned.

"Good morning, sunshine." Dean chuckled, leaning in to sweep the dark locks away from his face with a bit more success. Castiel just sighed gently, leaning into the touch gently.

"It's not morning." He dutifully reported, as if Dean couldn't see the afternoon sun himself. "Where are we?"

"Close, I promise. Should be there by evening." As the pump suddenly gave a heave and a heavy click, Dean swooped down to remove the gasoline nozzle and replace it back into its cradle.

A woman and her child walked out of the station house, gaining Castiel's attention. The little girl that bounced by her side, a smile on her face as her yellow sun dress twirled with her excited movements. He watched them until they came to the edge of the dusty road, eyebrows knitted as he took mental notes. The small girl beamed up at her mother as the woman smiled back, extending her hand which the girl happily took within her smaller one. Together joined, they made their way across the street to a small shop promising homemade ice cream after looking both ways.

"Want some ice cream?"

Castiel jerked slightly in surprise, blinking and glancing up at Dean. The hunter leaned against the bumper, watching amusedly and having no idea the true focus of Cas' observation. Behind him, Sam was making his way in to go pay the gas bill and buy road food.

Glancing back at the hut, Cas nodded almost uncertainly. "Um.. Yes."

Grinning, Dean fluffed the angel's hair (Cas half-heartedly pushed his hand away, but smiled). "C'mon, then."

He started walking towards the building, trusting Cas to follow. But once Dean got halfway across the street, he turned to check on him...

...and found him standing firmly back at the edge of the street, watching the hunter intently.

"Cas? C'mon, don't tell me you forgot how to walk." Cas just continued to stare at him, as if waiting for the hunter to do something. "Dude, don't just stare. What's wrong? Change your mind?"

His small shoulders dropped slightly, frowning lightly in frustration as he glanced down at the dirty road before back up at Dean. The older Winchester's eyebrows furrowed in concern, taking a step back towards the angel. Cas finally moved; raising his arm up, palm face up and fingers splayed out in offering, face set in determination.

Dean stopped walking, staring at the hand as if it might bite him. "You're kidding me." The determination wavered on his face, biting his lip as he flexed his fingers, staring up at Dean. The hunter's cheeks heated up in mild embarrassment, glancing around as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Cas, there's no cars coming. You'll be fine."

"Oh." And if that didn't break Dean's heart.

Lowering his arm, Cas moved to join Dean but the hunter crossed back over first. A hand—tan, calloused with a silver ring wrapped around a finger—was suddenly thrusted in front of him, palm open and waiting. Cas glanced up at Dean curiously, meeting annoyed, embarrassed, amused eyes. The small angel smiled, slipping his hand into the hunter's and squeezed it slightly.

Seeing Cas smile like that, looking more lit up then he probably realized, as they crossed the street endeared him more than Dean Winchester would ever admit to in this life or thereafter. It definitely helped when Cas would later spill vanilla ice cream on the back seat of his baby.

That, and apple pie ice cream.  
That helped, too.

.:|:..:|:..:|:..:|:..:|:.

"... What the Hell do you mean, six?"

"Just what I said, Bobby. Gabriel—"

"The archangel?"

"Yeah, he –"

"Ain't dead?"

"— thinks Cas was hit with a spell, but isn't sure of what kind yet."

"And you boys are bringing him here?"

"Yeah. We really need the home base right now, and if it's too much..."

"Oh, shut up. You idjits get here in one piece, got it? And I expect a full explanation once you get here."

A soft chuckle over the line. "Got it, Bobby. See you soon."

Bobby ran a hand over his face, returning the phone to its cradle as Sam hung up. A six year old angel.. why not? Add to the growing list of problems.

Sam's sudden unknown resurrection.  
Reports from various hunters of monsters migrating.  
Whatever whammied Castiel.

And, oh yeah, Crowley had his soul contract in a locked box.

That was another matter what-so-ever. His hourglass was winding down until crunch time with the King of Hell's hellhound. The very thought was enough to make him shudder, fingers playing with the handle of his desk drawer, a heartbeat away from reaching for the cheap liquor stashed inside. The thoughts of his seemingly inevitable demise were frequent enough to plague his dreams and haunt his waking thoughts.

Bobby glanced once at the wall clock before-screw it-he pulled the drawer open and pulled out a near-empty fifth. He'd just uncapped it, ready to draw what little liquor it had, when an accented voice carried over to him from behind him.

"Five 'o'clock somewhere, right, sweetheart?"

Scowling at the bottle, Bobby took a swig and shook his head. "Don't quote Jimmy Buffet at me, Crowley. What do you want?" Fingers grazed the back of his neck, brushing against the short hair and making the older man shiver. He turned, glancing up at just how close the tailored demon was to him. Dark, hooded eyes watched him curiously, almost detached as he adjusted his grip on the whiskey glass in his hand. Even after Bobby turned, his fingers continued stroking the short hair on his nape.

A smile crept at the corners of Crowley's lips. "What, no 'hello' kiss?" Bobby scowled and swatting his hand away irritably, making the other laugh. "No sense of humor today, sweetheart? Or should I go make a tampon run?" Bobby scowled grew darker. "You should be more careful, love. Your face might stick like that."

"Well, aren't you in a good mood."

"I try. Coming to your little bucolic nest is always a pleasure."

"And now I feel insulted." With a sigh, he took another swig. "What the Hell do you want, Crowley? Come to collect early?"

All traces of humor were instantly swept from the demon's face, forming together into a placid, emotionless mask. "No. Why would you think that?"

Confusion swept over the older hunter. "Why else would you be here?"

"Maybe I was telling the truth, Robert." The clipped tone made Bobby straighten up slightly in his chair, but Crowley had strolled the length of the room in a few easy strides. He eyed one of the picture frames on a shelf, of two young boys holding a football in autumn. Colored leaves scattered around and all over them, as if they'd managed to halt their play to take a quick photo. Somewhere, he mused that they might be the Winchester brats. "Just came to check in, is all. Making sure you're still breathing." There was a minute pause, almost, almost nonexistent. "Wouldn't want you to up and die on me before I can collect you."

"You mean your hellhound."

Crowley suddenly turned, fixing Bobby with a heavy look. "Who's to say I wouldn't come myself?"

Bobby remained unimpressed. "You could just give the damn thing back."

Tilting his head back and forth, he seemed to weigh the option before shaking his head. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"Why not?"

Crowley tutted, shaking his head. "Safe keeping. Really, Bobby, if you traded your soul to me, I can't even imagine what other sorts you'd sell it to. Probably ones who wouldn't take care of it, as I have."

The old hunter made a rude noise, observing the demon where he stood. "Take care of it, right. That's why you'll send your damn hellhound after me in the end— to take care of my soul."

That fierce look was instantly clouding Crowley's face; dark, impatient, unimpressed. It made unease settle heavily in the pit of his stomach. "I told you, I won't send him after you." He paused, dark gaze flickering over Bobby's face before the hard look softened into something the hunter had never seen before—at least, never had seen Crowley wear it. But he couldn't for the remaining life of him identify it. When he spoke again, it was lower, softer; barely above a whisper that Bobby was almost convinced it was his imagination. "I do remember what it's like to have a heart, Bobby."

But before Bobby could respond, Crowley was gone from his living room with barely a whisper of sound.

"... Balls."

It was edging close to evening by the time Bobby heard the rumbling purr of the impala pull into his yard.

He hadn't moved much since his visit from Crowley, staying by his desk with what remained of his fifth, swirling the liquor idly even after he capped it. The glass Crowley had been using was still perched on the end of his desk, looking innocent and inconspicuous but only adding turmoil to his already heavy mind.

.. _'I do remember what it's like to have a heart, Bobby.'_...

What did he mean by that?

But the arrival of the impala provided with a decent distraction for now—he had the mini!Cas problem to focus on, instead of his soul, or Crowley. Standing up from his desk(and it never got old that he could do that again), he stretched before going to open the door.

Sam smiled and nodded in greeting, as Dean ushered a very small angel out from the back seat, practically swallowed up in a large leather jacket he was vaguely certain was Dean's.

"Boys." Bobby nodded at both of them before switching to look at the small form hovering at Dean's knee, watching him critically. "Castiel?" The small form nodded slightly, but still remained on edge. Bobby nodded before shrugging, turning to go back inside. "Well, come on in."

"Wait, wait, wait." Dean refused to move, even as Sam moved to enter the house. Both men turned to look at him curiously. Even Castiel, who made no attempt to move without Dean, looked up at him. "This doesn't freak you out in the slightest?"

Bobby leveled a look at him, raising an eyebrow. "We deal with the supernatural every day. Especially since you two idjits attract it like magnets. So whatever curse or, whatever, was cast on Cas, then we'll deal with it." He groused, spinning on his heel before going inside.

Dean and Sam exchanged a look before shrugging and following him inside, Cas trailing behind.

"So, fill me in on everything..."

.:|:..:|:..:|:..:|:..|:.

Bobby was rather understanding of the whole thing, which took the boys by surprise. But dealing with the monsters in the dark, left little room to be surprised anymore these days. They'd gotten a few stacks of pizzas from a local pizza place, camping out in Bobby's living room and talking about different stratagems to the various problems now balanced up on their plates.

They had swapped stories; finding Cas for the reports of migrating monsters from various hunters.

"Doesn't it kind of seem like when it rains, it pours, with us?" Sam asks the open air, getting two grunts of agreement. He switches to watching his brother peering over Castiel's shoulder, who was coloring in one of the books Gabriel had, in a round-about way, given to him. He's vaguely sure he heard Dean murmur, "Dude, why's the giraffe green?" to of which Castiel looked so nearly scandalized that Sam had to walk away into the kitchen to keep from laughing. He didn't, however, miss the tiny angel's admission that it was his favorite color.

When Dean joined him not a few moments later, feigning a need for another beer, Sam noticed his face was tinged in mild embarrassment.

His brother was strange.

/\\/\\/\\/

They'd settled down for the night soon after dinner. Bobby going first, muttering about idjits and too many problems with not enough solutions. Sam followed not that long after, with a goodnight to his brother and Castiel. Dean remained sprawled out on the couch, remote in one hand and beer in the other as he stared at the late night movie. Castiel was currently branching out past just scribbling odd colors between thick lines and had found an old ream of yellowed printer paper to doodle on.

His box of crayons had all but depleted by now—they had lasted a bit longer once he realized that squeezing them too tight caused them to snap quicker, and had gone about using them more delicately. Papers were spread out in a wide circle around him, each holding a different image, a different moment and upon closer inspection: a different memory. To his left, various more memories laid around him. Of brothers and more joyful times, soft feathers and moonlit clouds, powerful wings and a sun-warmed planet just beginning to grow. A fish crawling out of the muck and a gentle reminder to not step on it. His garrison, of seemingly more innocent times. To his right, what memories were resurfacing as the day went on. Meeting a conflicted, brazen hunter in a barn full of religious symbols painted along the walls, threats to throw him back into the pit he was pulled from, a quiet pair of park benches after the defeat of Samhain. Of fleeing from a den of iniquity and watching a man with a soul bruised but not beaten laugh like he hadn't in years. Waking up in New Orleans, completely human and his first compulsion being to call this man, seek him out. In the middle, directly in front of him was a scribbled hellscape; darkness and chains and souls pleading for salvation or at the very least an end to suffering, but none so bright as the fallen Righteous Man, to be saved by the little angel of Thursday.

Slowly, Castiel stood up from where he sat, looking at all his drawings, moments, memories. They were slowly coming back to him, at least. Even if he remembered them in a more detached sense, like watching someone else's memories. But he looked at the right side, of his more recent memories. The ones still coming back to him.

They were all of Dean.

He turned, glancing back at the hunter at the center of his memories. Dean had nodded off at some point while watching his movie, which had by now switched to infomercials. The older Winchester was laid half off the couch, snuffling gently in his sleep, twitching as if annoyed by his dreams. For an unknown reason, it made Castiel smile.

Switching off the TV and the last lamps that were lit, the small angel moved around to look curiously at the Righteous Man. He looked tired, no doubt about that. But Dean looked more at peace in the soft cradle of sleep, with the weight of the world off his shoulders for a few hours. Castiel didn't have the heart to wake him up, even if he was sure that sleeping on the couch wasn't good for him. So he opted instead to lay beside the hunter on the small couch, cuddling up beneath the folds of his open jacket to share his body warmth. Whatever dream had been plaguing Dean was erased almost instantly, a warm set of arms enveloping his tiny form protectively. Cas smiled, resting his cheek above Dean's heart and closed his eyes.

It was like this, safe in his hunter's arms with that beautiful soul so close, with a million different emotions swarming his grace-locked form that Castiel fell into a blissful sleep.


End file.
